


Red Death

by procellous



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Reversal, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:00:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/pseuds/procellous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Drake was the second Robin and dead.</p><p>Note the past tense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So Age Reversal:  
> Damian is Nightwing, Tim is dead, Steph is Spoiler, an Oracle-like figure, and Jason is Robin.  
> Only not.

_Now._

_Batman._

“Tired?” The man asked as he and Batman fought. He talked a lot.

It wasn’t ego.

It was distraction.

It was distraction. Just like the costume.

A parody of the Robin costume. Red tunic. Black tights. Cape.

But there were changes. Two belts wrapped around his chest instead of a single one around his waist. The black - not green, black - gloves had sharp spikes, the cape had no yellow and instead of a mask?

A cowl. Just like Batman’s, but without the ears.

Not to mention his fighting style…

Parts of it clearly Lady Shiva. Others eerily similar to Tim’s.

But whoever this was didn’t have Tim’s weaknesses. Taller, stronger, faster, and more agile than Tim had been.

The distraction was beginning to work. Make him focus on the son he had lost, on Tim. Instead of him.

He fought smart. Came prepared. His knife cut through the belt and the body armor.

Not many knives could do that.

The man’s kick connected with Batman’s stomach and knocked him off of the roof.

He jumped after the falling Bat and they both landed on another.

A short fight, and Batman had the man pinned.

“This is over.” he growled.

“No,” the man said. “Not nearly.”

He reached up and tore off the cowl, getting out of the pin in the process.

“Look at you. I guess we should keep it even…”

He took off his own cowl.

Dark hair. Blue eyes. And a single streak of white.

“Oh God…” he breathed.

\--

_Five weeks earlier._

_?????_

A warehouse. Squabbling drug dealers. All angry. All stupid. And all demanding to know who set up the meeting.From the rafters, a man smirked. Readied his AK-47, and waited until –"

One of them stood up, about to leave, but gunfire from the rafters forced him back to his seat.

“It’s my meeting. I invited you.” They all looked up and saw him, and his smirk grew into a smile. Opened fire again, this time tearing up the table.

“You wanna die? There are easier ways to kill yourself!”

“Yeah, like yelling at the guy with the AK-47. Listen to me, you drug dealing dirtbags. You eight are the most prosperous street dealers in town. I am offering you a deal. I will be running the Gotham drug trade from now on. You will go about your business as usual. You kick up forty percent to me, which is a much better deal than the Black Mask will give you. In return, you will have total protection from both Black Mask and Batman. The catch? You stay away from kids and schoolyards. No dealing to kids, got it? If you do, you’re dead. And keep your hands to yourself.”

“Okay, crazy man,” one of the dealers said, “This is all very generous, but why the f*** should we listen to you?”

In response, he kicked the duffle bag down. It landed on the table with a thump. They unzipped it and recoiled in horror.

“Forty percent works for me,” a man said.

\--

_A week earlier._

_Batman._

Information travels on many routes in Gotham.

Sometimes it comes in reliably, like the tide. You just need to know when it comes in.

Other times it’s elusive…

And you have to hunt through the garbage to find it.

Batman held the man upside down by his ankle. A low-level gang member. A street dealer. Small fry.

He didn’t know anything of value.

In the past few years, Batman had come to rely on Stephanie Brown, formerly Batgirl, now the Spoiler, for information.

She utilized every form of surveillance to be her eyes and ears. To monitor not just Gotham but also her sister cities.

He couldn’t do that now.

Couldn’t trust anyone.

“-tt-”

He turned and saw his eldest son, Damian. Nightwing.

“Checking up on me?”

“Yes. I thought I should stay close to home while my leg heals.”

“Blüdhaven is your home.”

“Nice to see you too, Father.”

“I’m working on a case.” There was a moment’s pause, both half-expecting a voice to say _When are you not?_ “If you want to stay, I won’t stop you.”

\--

_A week earlier._

_Damian._

“Why doesn’t Spoiler like me?” Todd asked.

Damian froze. Dealing with emotions – especially where the former Fatgirl was involved – was never his strong suit. And he was reminded of what Tim had said, years ago–

_A small voice, unsure. Hesitant. "Damian? How do I get a girl to like me?"_

“Spoiler,” he said hesitantly, “doesn’t like many people.” Lie. Spoiler was as friendly now as she was before her crippling. And everyone knew how friendly Batgirl was. How cheerful and willing to help.

“Yeah, that’s a lie. She just doesn’t like me. And I don’t know why.”

_"She doesn't like me and I don't know why."_

“-tt- What makes you think I would know?” he said, echoing his words years ago.

“You’ve known her longer.” Todd shrugged and hopped onto the table. “And you’re dodging the question.”

He sighed. This would not be easy. “You are aware of your predecessor, correct?”

“Yeah, who isn’t?”

“Ti – he and Spoiler were…involved. Romantically.”

 _You're just jealous 'cause I have a girlfriend and you don't,_ Tim had said.

“They were dating, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“And so she doesn’t like me because I replaced him.”

“That…may be a part of it. Also. I think you remind her of herself. When she was younger.”

He blinked. “I do?”

“You certainly remind me of Batgirl.” _And of Robin,_ he thought but carefully didn’t say, _You're so much like him sometimes that it hurts._

\--

_Four days earlier._

_Batman._

Word was something big was coming in. That was all they could get.

Something _big_.

Most times, it doesn’t matter _what_. Just _when_.

And tonight, it’s also about the company kept.

It’s different with Damian out there.

It makes Bruce nostalgic. Makes him think about when they were both younger. It was a different time. Simpler.

And for that, it’s hard to be around Nightwing.

The guards are taken out cleanly. Efficiently.

“These guards were dressed for a small war,” Damian commented. “Clearly transporting something of value.”

“No explosives on the lids. Let’s find out what.”

Joker Bombs. Boomerangs. Freeze’s guns. Lethal stuff.

And then the sound of an imminent explosion.

“Move!”

 _Boom_.

The explosion destroyed the cargo. Not set off by the guards, then.

“You okay?” He asks his son.

“Fine. There, up on the roof – he’s the one.”

They both fired their grapples.

“You know him?” Damian asks.

“No. And at the moment I don’t care.”

The man jumped off the rooftop, cape flaring as he fell and landed on the next one.

He’s quick. Agile.

Not thinking about his next move. Just making it.

He’s been trained well.

And there’s something about his motions. Something familiar.

Batman threw the line. It wrapped around his ankle, but the mystery man cut it before it went taut.

That would have had to be practiced.

He crashed through the glass roof of the train station.

Thrown off by the line, or purposeful?

Nightwing and Batman followed him through the hole and saw him get on a red and black motorcycle.

“Nice to see you again,” Nightwing quipped to the man’s back.

“Not particularly. You’re an ass.”

He drove away.

\--

_Three days earlier._

_Spoiler._

Spoiler sat in the Clocktower, monitoring her surveillance footage. But mostly staring at the old photo pined to the wall.

Tim had taken it, back when they were still _Robin_ and _Batgirl_. Back before everything chaged. Before he…before he died. Before she had been crippled.  
They were supposed to be on patrol at the time, but they had slipped away from Batman’s watch and played tag on rooftops.

It ended up being their second-to-last kiss. Tim took a picture of them, laughing and happy, that day, and developed two copies.

One for her and one for him.

He had left for Haiti the next day, and never came back.

She shook herself out of her memories and focused on the screen, watching the fight between Nightwing and Batman and the new guy. There was something familiar about him. The way he moved, the way he fought. Parts of it were new. Parts of it were as familiar as her own heartbeat.

He moved like Tim. She stared at what she could see of his skin, his cheeks and mouth and chin. Grabbed one of the many photos she had of him and compared. Allowed for age and –

A perfect match.

She compared old footage from when she and Tim had sparred, compared the way he moved then and tried not to think about how she couldn’t –  
Couldn’t do any of that anymore. Damn. She thought about it.

But the new guy moved just like Tim.

“Rewind.” she said. “Pause. Enhance.” The video complied. “Play.”

The knife cut through the line.

She checked another video, one of Tim training in the cave. The move matched perfectly.

But –

_She had seen the body. Tim was dead._

\--

_A few hours earlier._

_?????_

It didn’t take long to find him.

And he had a lot of business to take care of before allowing himself this moment.

But now it felt right.

Reunions are funny things.

“Who’s there…?” the Joker whispered as the man stepped into the old carnival truck. “Tell me who you are…or I’ll kill you…you think I’m kidding?”

“No,” he said, raising a crowbar. “I’d never think that.”

The crowbar fell onto the Joker, and again and again, until he was bleeding heavily and nearly dead.

“Now tell me,” Tim Drake said, taking off his cowl, “How does that feel?”

\--

_Now._

_Batman._

“This is over.” he growled.

“No,” the man said. “Not nearly.”

He reached up and tore off the cowl, getting out of the pin in the process.

“Look at you. I guess we should keep it even…”

He took off his own cowl.

Dark hair. Blue eyes. And a single streak of white.

“Oh God…” he breathed.

“No. Not quite," he grinned, "Wanna guess again?”

“You cannot possibly think that I would fall for that ruse.”

“Yes, I do. Because you know it. I think you’ve known it for a while.”

“It’s not possible.”

“No, it really is.”

“Tim.”

“There you go.”

“How?” Bruce’s voice was hoarse. “How did you –”

“That doesn’t matter much, does it? Not to me. Here,” he threw both cowls at Bruce, “That’s fingerprints. And here’s blood,” he drew his knife across the back of his head before tossing it at Bruce. “Check it all. You’ll find that it really is me.”

“It still won’t make me believe.”

“I think it will. You’re a creature of logic and science, Bruce. And all the evidence agrees. Or do I need to take a picture to make you believe?”

\--

_An hour later._

_Bruce._

“Do the tests match, Master Bruce?”

“Everything says it’s him.” He walked over to the Case – Tim’s uniform, with his camera hanging from the neck – and stared at it for a moment.

“Sir, would you…would you like me to remove that from the Cave?”

“No. Leave it. This doesn’t change anything.” He turned and walked away. “It doesn’t change anything at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Three years earlier.  
  
Bruce._  
  
Batgirl is crying in Nightwing’s arms – no.  
  
Stephanie is sobbing. Damian is not-crying in that way his son has. That Bruce is fairly certain his son got from him. They’re wrapped around each other, supporting and comforting each other.

* * *

_Three years earlier.  
  
Batman._  
  
“Do something!” Nightwing screams, and Batman can feel his heart breaking. Underneath kevlar and skin and muscle and bone, his heart falters and fails.  
  
His son is asking him to kill in the name of his other son.  
  
(Did Tim ever know? That Bruce had filed the adoption papers, that he was just as much his son as Damian? That he had to resist calling Tim _son_ sometimes, because _what if Tim didn’t want him as a father?_ )  
  
And as his oldest son screams, eyes wild with grief, he mourns that the one thing his son is asking of him is the one thing he can’t do.  
  
Kill.  
  
And he can only say –  
  
“You know I can’t.”  
  
The look Damian gives him is pure, utter _betrayal_. His son turns to leave and Batman knows he’s going to do something irrational.  
  
So he grabs Damian by the arm and pulls him back, shaking him.  
  
“Think. Tim wouldn’t want you to become a killer.”  
  
“I already am.” Damian whispers. “I let him die.”  
  
“You can’t blame yourself for Tim. I can’t lose both of you.”

* * *

_Now._  
  
 _Batman._  
  
Damn it.  
  
Stupid. Careless. Slow.  
  
He’s playing rough.  
  
Red Robin’s knife went to the belt, but didn’t cut through it.  
  
“Ha! Reinforced it so my knife couldn’t go through it! Not going to make the same mistake twice and be left without your toys?”  
  
“No. Never twice.”  
  
From there the fight took them through several walls and into a small apartment.  
  
“You say you want to save Gotham! To kill a part of it so that it can survive! You want to save you’re better than me! But it won’t happen!” Batman shouted with every punch.  
  
“I know I failed you, Tim. But I tried to save you. I’m trying to save you now.”  
  
“You think that’s what this is about? That you didn’t save me? I don’t know what clouds your judgement worse, your guilt or your antiquated sense of morality. Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me. But why? Why on God’s Earth…” he kicked a door in, and pulled out the Joker, “Did you let him live?”  
  
The Joker was oddly silent in Tim’s hold.  
  
“Ignoring everything he’s done in the past, blindly, stupidly ignoring the entire graveyards he’s filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he’s crippled? I thought – not for killing me, I’m not important enough, I get that – I thought that Steph meant enough to you. I thought that you would realize that he can’t be redeemed. How many people have died because you were to proud? Because you’re stuck in a childish game where you let him kill people because you don’t want to lose?”  
  
“You don’t understand.”  
  
“I understand perfectly. You won’t do it? Fine.” He tossed the Joker at Batman, and he landed on the floor like a ragdoll.  
  
“What have you done?”  
  
“What you didn’t.”  
  
Tim turned and ran, leaving the Joker and Batman alone with each other.  
  
He reached out to his son, but he was already gone.

* * *

_Now.  
  
Stephanie._  
  
Stephanie Brown stared at the footage as Red Robin pulled off his cowl for the fifth time. Her hands fell off of the keyboard when she watched it the first time, her mind going at a hundred miles an hour into a brick wall, coming back to the same thing:  
  
 _He hadn’t said anything._  
  
When Tim had died, Damian had told her as soon as he knew. Held her as she shattered like glass.  
  
Why –  
  
Why hadn’t they told her –  
  
 _They didn’t trust her._  
  
It all came back to that. They didn’t trust her.  
  
Not as Batgirl then and not as Spoiler now.  
  
Didn’t trust her to not run to Tim. Didn’t trust that she could make good decisions around Tim.  
  
Like they were any better.  
  
“Spoiler?”  
  
Jason. The new Robin.  
  
(Sometimes, when she’s feeling particularly masochistic, she would think about what it might have been like if she had kept her child. If she and Tim had raised her together. If she had been Tim’s child.  
  
Jason’s painful to be around. Tim’s hair with her curls, the boy grins and all she can see is Tim playing tag on rooftops, Tim’s blue and her green eyes mixing into Jason’s teal.  
  
She hopes that he never falls.  
  
 _Why are you worrying? I’m Robin!_ he had laughed, young and immortal like spun glass.)  
  
“Spoiler? You okay?”  
  
“Yeah? Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”  
  
“Nightwing and B kicked me out of the Cave. You mind if I stay here?”  
  
“Go ahead.” Jason grins and races off to somewhere in the Clocktower. She’ll have to pull him out of wherever he gets stuck.  
  
He’s so much like Tim it hurts.  
  
She turns back to the monitors. All her evidence matched with what the video showed. She’d take a moment to be smug about being right except the betrayal of them not trusting her still stung.  
  
The bugs she had on Batman were streaming to one screen. He was fighting Tim, and then –  
  
Green. Tim holding the Joker, both bloody. She had turned off the sound when the stream began, not wanting to hear their fight, and now resorted to lip-reading. Luckily he didn’t wear anything over his mouth.  
  
“–everything he’s done in the past, blindly, _stupidly_ ignoring the entire graveyards he’s filled, the thousands who have suffered, the _friends he’s crippled_?”  Tim was saying. She blinked in surprise, she hadn’t realized he had known about her.  
  
“I thought – not for killing me, I’m not important enough, I get that –” And if she had ever doubted that it was Tim, that chased it all away, Tim had never thought that he was important, the idiot.  
  
“I thought that Steph meant enough to you.” And there he went, breaking her heart. _Again_.  
  
“I thought that you would realize that he can’t be redeemed. How many people have died because you were too proud? Because you’re stuck in a childish game where you let him kill people because you don’t want to lose?”  
  
Batman was probably saying something, but the bugs weren’t picking up his face.  
  
“I understand perfectly. You won’t do it? Fine.” Tim tossed the Joker, and he hit the ground limply.  
  
Something from Batman.  
  
“What you didn’t.”  
  
Tim turned and ran out of the video.  
  
Jason walked into the room.  
  
“Spoiler? Why are you crying?” he asked. She reached up to her cheek, and it came away wet.  
  
She hadn’t realized…  
  
“It’s nothing.”  
  
And then her security systems went off, the alarm blaring.  
  
Then it stopped.  
  
“Was that nothing, too?” Jason asked.  
  
“Let’s hope so.” She typed a command into the computer, and it showed her the security feeds.  
  
…She had programmed a override for Tim into the security. It had been the stupidest move she ever made, ever, because the computer was now saying that Tim had overridden the security.  
  
 _The password was something only she and Tim ever knew.  
  
(648BRICK892)_  
  
Then she pulled up the security cameras.  
  
And her heart skipped a beat.  
  
Beaten. Bloody. Cowl ripped and dark hair spilling out, a single blue eye visible.  
  
And undeniably _Tim_.  
  
“Spoiler? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
  
 _I think I have._ “Jason, I need you to go to the Cave–”  
  
“But they kicked me out!  
  
“–and tell Damian that if he tries to keep you out he will get a brick to the face. But you need to not be here, okay?”  
  
He nodded and left, turning at the door to ask–  
  
“You’ll be okay, right?”  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
He left, closing the door behind him.  
  
She sighed, and initiated her override.  
  
“Override E115W. Engage lockdown.”  
  
And pretended that the sound of the Clocktower going into lockdown didn’t sound like her heart breaking even more.

* * *

_Now.  
  
Tim._  
  
In retrospect, it was a bad idea from the start.  
  
Seeing that ‘Tim’ had access should have been his first clue that something was wrong.  
  
And it was idiotic to think that Steph felt the same way he did – it had been three years. She had moved on and left the access as a trap that put the Clocktower in lockdown.  
  
Except that wasn’t what happened. The ‘Tim’ access worked. There was a separate override that put the Clocktower in lockdown.  
  
Did Steph…  
  
It was obvious that she had put the Tower in lockdown. Had she known it was him? That it wasn’t an impersonation?  
  
He’d try again. At least do something. Apologize for leaving. For dying. For coming back. For not staying with her.  
  
But only once, because he was over his creepy stalker faze and he could, in fact, take a hint.  
  


* * *

  
_Now.  
  
Jason._  
  
“I told you to get out of the Cave, Jason!” Damian shouted.  
  
“But–”  
  
“Just. Get. Out.”  
  
He took a deep breath, prepared for the worst, and said, _“SpoilertoldmetogototheBatcaveandifyoudidn’tletmeshesaidshe’dhityouwithabrick.”_  
  
Damian’s face changed in an instant, a flicker of something suspiciously like grief, before settling on a mix of anger and tiredness.  
  
“Go upstairs. Just – don’t be in the Batcave.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
He left the Cave hurriedly, too relieved that Damian hadn’t killed him to notice how the man had slumped spinelessly down on the chair.  
  
Jason fell onto his bed, bone-tired and confused. Damian was angrier than usual. Steph looked more haunted and heart-broken than ever. Bruce was nowhere to be found.  
  
And nobody was telling him anything.  
  
“Fuck this shit,” he muttered. “I am going to find out _something_ about this whole mess. And I will brave Damian’s wrath if I have to do it.”  
  
“Language, Master Jason,” came the calm voice of Alfred, “and I don’t think that Master Damian will appreciate your snooping.”  
  
“Sorry, Alfie,” he muttered, the tips of his ears turning pink.  
  
“Now then. If you want to know what’s going on, perhaps you could ask someone who knows.”  
  
“I _would_ , but Damian’ll kill me, Steph just avoids the question, and – oh.”  
  
“So, Master Jason, perhaps there is a question you would like to ask?”  
  
“What’s going on? Why’s everyone acting so _weird_?”  
  
“Master Timothy…has returned.”  
  
He stopped short. “But– but– he’s dead– I thought–”  
  
“He was dead. And now is not. Master Bruce is…attempting to make sense of it.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Now._

_Spoiler._

Having the security hacked once was scary. Having it hacked twice, after she had removed Tim’s access and changed all the passwords?

Terrifying.

Although it was suspicious, because hacking into the most secure system on the planet just to leave two roses, one red and one purple, was a waste of effort.

But her scans weren’t picking up anything. They were just roses.

Roses which were currently sitting in a vase on her bedside.

There was a note taped to one of the monitors. She hadn’t noticed it earlier–

_Let the puzzlement fit the crime. –Alvin_

Alvin. She knew who Alvin was. And she knew exactly what the note referred to.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, when I get my hands on you– !”

“What are you going to do?”

She spun her chair around so fast she nearly got whiplash.

“I,” she said slowly, “am going to make you regret doing that.”

“That might take some work, Spoiler, I don’t regret it at all.”

“You _heel_ , hacking my security is not cool.”

“You know what else isn’t cool?”

“What.”

“You are. Because you’re hot.”

“Lame, boy Romeo. Lame.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me try that again. What light through yonder Batsignal breaks? It is the east, and Stephanie is the–ow!”

“You deserved that, you– you–”

“Yes?”

“You _heel_.”

“We’ve established that one already.”

“Just making sure you know that.”

“How could I forget?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.“

She grabbed him by his bandoliers and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn’t like she had remembered their kisses being. Their kisses had been awkward and uncertain, smushed noses and clicking teeth.

This kiss was hungry, angry, sad – all the emotions of the three years (three years, it had been _three years_ ) coming out.

Mostly Steph just enjoyed the feeling of Tim, alive and solid and _real_. (She just couldn’t shake the feeling of him dead.)

* * *

It isn’t until they’re lying in bed together later that night that Tim admits –

"I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“In bed or out of bed?”

“ _Out_ of bed, Steph.”

“So you created a criminal empire without knowing what you’re doing.”

“I knew what I was doing then. Even if the criminal empire was unintentional.”

“Only you could unintentionally create a criminal empire.”

“Point being, I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

“Run the criminal empire?”

“Will you stop bringing up the criminal empire?”

“No.”

Tim shot her a helpless _why_ look. “Believe it or not, running criminal empires isn’t very time-consuming. Or, well, it isn’t yet. But the point is that I don’t know what to do next, _aside from running the criminal empire_.”

“Destroy your enemies?”

“Been there, done that.”

“Hmm…have you gone back to Wayne Manor yet?”

“What’s the point of me doing that, exactly?”

“Meeting Jason, saying hi to Alfred, getting inspected by Alfred, eating lots of Alfred’s cooking. He’s going to think your avoiding him and starving yourself to death. You’re too thin.”

“I’m not thin!”

“Says you.”

“I’m not!”

“Alfred would disagree.”

“Alfred would be–I can’t say finish that sentence. I can’t say it.”

“Go to Wayne Manor in the morning.”

“Yes ma'am.”

* * *

_A day later._

_Jason._

Opening the door and finding Timothy Drake there felt a lot like being replaced.

Especially because he could now compare himself to the ghost that haunted the Manor and found that he wasn’t good enough. He didn’t measure up. Literally. His head was around where Tim’s shoulder was.

Tim was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and still managed to make Jason feel smaller than he ever had. Even around _Damian_. Or _Bruce_. And they were _giants._ But here, in the gaze of his predecessor, he felt like a kid who just got caught stealing the tires off the Batmobile.

“So. You’re Jason.” Tim tilted his head to one side, and Jason drew himself up to his full height.

The effect was slightly ruined by his shortness.

“Um. Yes?”

The silence hung between them for a long moment.

“If–” Jason began, “If you wanted– wanted Robin back– you can have it– I mean– it’s yours anyway–”

Tim laughed.

“Keep it. It’s yours.”

“Really?”

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

He ruffled Jason’s hair playfully, and Jason instinctively tried to shake him off, which turned into an impromptu wrestling match.

“Master Jason, what in the world are you –” There’s a crash as the tray Alfred is carrying falls to the ground.

“My word,” Alfred whispered.

Both Jason and Tim scrambled to their feet, brushing dust off of their clothes and trying not to look guilty.

There were tears in the old butler’s eyes.

“Hey Alfie,” Tim said. Jason glanced up and saw that he was biting his lip like he was trying not to cry. He probably was, actually.

“Welcome home, Master Tim.”


End file.
